


close up magic

by queerofcups



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 02:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17173814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerofcups/pseuds/queerofcups
Summary: Phil is a witch. Dan finds out.





	close up magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plsdontfightme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plsdontfightme/gifts).



Phil sits on the floor of the lounge, coffee spoon tucked beside his cheek. He licks it occasionally, the metallic taste zinging across his tongue. It’s early, the sun hasn’t completely risen yet, and dark in the flat. He’s thrown up a small orb of warm pale light. It illuminates the tarot cards spread out in front of him.

The vernal equinox is approaching, a convenient mid-point between their birthdays and he hasn’t had a chance yet to decide what protections he needs to do over their lives for the years. The cards aren’t prescriptive, but they help guide and focus his magic into proper ideas, rather than the frazzled, ambient feeling that he carries around in himself all the time.

The spoon is just to keep him paying attention to the task at hand. And to stir his coffee.

Phil closes his eyes and envisions scooping out a little of the blue-green light that sits at the center of his chest and letting it spill across the tarot cards, slowly pulling out the ones that feel like they’re right.

He opens his eyes to see the Ten of Swords, the Tower, the Two of Cups , and the World. Phil tugs with his magic and they float in front of him, ready to be examined.

“Hm,” Phil says, noting the Ten of Swords and Tower. He’d need some sort of protection spell, maybe something for communication.

He tries to take a sip of coffee and completely misses his mouth, spilling down his front.

“Damnit,” he whispers, brushing the liquid away.

“Phil?” Dan says, and a chill runs down Phil’s spine. “What the fuck am I looking at?”

The cards fall out of the air.

*

The night his parents met Dan for the first time, his mum had welcomed him with warm, open arms and worry in her eyes. She’d pretended well, but Phil knew what she looked like when she was frightened.

When he’d come to sit with her that night, after Dan had showered and gone up to the room that they were sharing--with it's bed made up on the floor that wouldn’t get used--she’d still been worried.  
_Dan’s lovely, she’d said, but will you tell him what you are?_ And Phil had told her yes, and she’d watched, year after year, as Dan rolled his eyes fondly when Phil talked about his psychic grandmother, as he teased Phil about his plant familiars, as they made videos with Phil’s second favorite deck (because he’d never let the audience see his most favorite--a gilded deck of black cards that he saved for shadow work).

*  
Dan’s working himself up to properly hyperventilating. His eyes have gone wide and scared and he’s tucked himself into a corner of the couch. Phil’s watching him, silently, because every time he tries to say anything, Dan just shakes his head furiously. He’d reached out to try and touch Dan exactly once. He doesn’t ever want to see Dan flinch away from him ever again.

“I can’t believe--,” Dan starts to say and cuts himself off. “You. You were just. Was that…”

“Magic,” Phil says, risking the reaction from Dan. “It was magic. I’m...I’m a witch.”

Dan’s laugh is high-pitched and hysterical. “You’re a witch. You’re a fucking _witch_ , Phil, what the _fuck_?”

“Dan,” Phil says helplessly. This would be easier if Dan had believed a little, or even suspected. Phil could have revealed a new world to him, surprised him with the beauty of magic, talked about the spark that he felt in him. But Dan didn’t believe, hadn’t ever even entertained the idea of magic or the supernatural.

And now he was here, struggling to breathe, flinching away from Phil’s touch, laughing at Phil’s entire existence.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dan says, chewing on his bottom lip now, “You could have. Why’d you hide from me?”

Phil tries not to let his irritation show on his face, but his control feels fractured and frazzled and some of the knickknacks scattered around their apartment rattle with an silent quake.

Dan’s eyes snap over to the tiny Pacman ghost that falls off a windowsill and says, slowly, “Phil, have you done magic on me?”

Phil doesn’t answer fast enough, because he’s not sure the answer. He’s cast protection spells over every hotel room they’ve ever stayed in. He’s nudged objects out of Dan’s trajectory to stop a fall, he’s cast calming thoughts and boosted joy on Dan’s low days. He’s sprinkled herbs in cocoa to make it taste perfect and sparkle, just a little and he knows that the ambient magic around him is affected by his feelings and he just loves Dan so much.

But Dan’s shaken up and Phil hasn’t said no, so he’s jumping to his feet and nearly running toward the stairs.

“Dan!” Phil calls after him, chasing him toward their bedroom.

Dan’s already throwing things in a bag when he gets there and he’s shoved his feet in a pair of shoes.

“Stay away from me!” Dan shouts hoarsely. He’s moving too fast to tell, but Phil’s reasonably sure Dan’s eyes would be glossy if he could see them.

“Dan,” Phil says, “Dan, calm down. You know I’d never hurt you.”

“I don’t know anything,” Dan snaps, “I don’t--Phil.”

He stops for a second and just looks at Phil. He looks young, and betrayed. Phil supposes this is the only secret he’s held back from Dan. He supposes, that Dan’s hasn’t had any practice understanding that there are things he can’t share with Phil. Phil supposes that all the ways Dan is different, Phil understands, and so they’ve never had a moment like this--there’s never been something so insurmountable between them.

“At least tell me where you’re going?” Phil asks. He feels desperate and frightened and like Dan is slipping through his fingers. He doesn’t know if holding tighter will help or hurt more.  
“I don’t know, Phil,” Dan says and shoulders his bag. There’s at least some softness left, though, because he sighs and says, “A hotel. Or Bry’s. I don’t know. I’ll text you.”

Phil nods and Dan’s gone, sliding by him to get to the door, taking care not to touch him.

Phil listens until he hears the door close and then there’s nothing but him and the shivery feeling of his magic in misery.

*  
“Corn thinks it's a bit weird,” Martyn says and shrugs. They’re at the IRL Digital office, and every table is covered in merch samples. Martyn’s vaguely twisting around one of the sock design mock ups they’d already rejected.

“She’s never freaked out, though,” he says, then a mix of emotions cross his face, “But I don’t use it for much. Light a candle here, clean a spill there.”

There are years in that expression, the tension between them that never gets worked out because they don’t address the fact that Phil is more gifted in magic several times over. It’s a sore spot. The Lesters are a line of powerful witches, as are their Mum’s line, and all that power coming together to produce someone who’s middling at best at magic, and has got more of a brain for marketing and finance than cauldrons and that whole thing, is always a subject for some not-so-gentle ribbing at family gatherings.

But now Phil’s got a lot of power and hasn’t seen Dan in two days. He’d trade with Martyn in a second. He’s jittery and keeps checking his phone. He’s giving off little sparks, because he’s got no reason to hold them back. Martyn keeps giving him little worried glances.  
“Sorry,” Phil says, pressing his hand to his eyes. “I just...I should have told him.”

“I don’t see how you did it so long,” Martyn says, sounding apologetic. “You know we love Dan but...he’s really down on all of this stuff. I’d be a little exhausted, hearing how stupid people are for believing in magic.”

Phil shrugs and lets his head fall back against the back of the rolly chair.

“It wasn’t important,” he told Martyn and the ceiling. “He let things be coincidences. He left it be me being quirky. It was fine.”

“Fine,” Martyn repeats, and Phil doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s frowning. “But were you happy, Phil? You’re...you’re a powerhouse, Phil. You could do spellwork as a _job_ , you could be psychic like Grandmother. And you just sort of gave it all up. For Dan.”

Phil doesn’t say anything. It’s not the first time he’s heard this particular thread of conversation. It’s not even the first time this year, one of his grandparents or aunts or some other older person always manages to tug him away and lovingly suggests that it's finally time to come away from the city and find a nice countryside house to settle in and become the local psychic or potion-maker or whatever image they have in mind for him. Some of them suggest he bring his nice boy along, but most of them don’t.

Phil things about it sometimes, when he’s up til 3am editing videos. He imagines waking up when he wants and being surrounded by different tarot decks and outfitting himself in brightly colored, rich fabrics and charging young adults too much money to tell them what cards say (even though they could look it up on their own if they wanted).

But Dan’s always in those fantasies, using their magically enhanced wifi and giggling to himself about bride-to-bes weeping over getting The Devil or poking at jars of salamander eyes. It’s always been a fantasy, though. He’s figured that he’d do small magic for the rest of his life if it means that he can always have Dan.

He can’t tell Martyn that though, just like he can’t tell his relatives, just like he couldn't tell Dan until now.

When his phone rings, though, and Dan’s name shows up, it feels like magic.

*  
Dan’s back in their flat, the deck of cards in front of him. It’s not one of Phil’s favorites, a basic Rider-Waite deck that he’d collected over the years. Dan’s staring at them, and he doesn’t look up when Phil sits down next to him.

“You never...what kind of spells have you done on me?” Dan asks.

Phil shakes his head. “Nothing bad, never. And nothing controlling. I wouldn’t ever--Dan, you have to believe that.”

Dan sighs, “It’s a change, Phil. You have to know that. It’s like...a shift in my whole perspective.”

Phil nods, but keeps quiet. He’s known Dan long enough to know the difference between a conversation and Dan thinking out loud.

“Like what does this mean?” Dan continues, “Are werewolves real? Are faeries? Is God real? Vampires?”

Phil huffs a little laugh, “I don’t think vampires a real. I like that they’re higher on the list than God, though.”

“ _Phil!_ ,” Dan says, and it's a little release of tension. Dan sounds deadly serious, in the way he sounds serious when he says they’re never doing another Dan vs. Phil. Not like he’s thinking about leaving.

“Dan,” Phil repeats. “I’ve never heard anyone say anything about vampires.”

“Well,” Dan says, fiddling with the edge of one of the cards. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Phil takes a deep breath. That is the question. Because for all that Dan talked down about the supernatural, Phil’s had a decade to warm him up to the subject.

He puts a finger on the card Dan’s messing with and flips it over. It’s The Fool.

He sighs and slices a sliver of magic off his core, lifting the card so it floats and rotates in front of them. New beginnings, guileless trust.

“It didn’t matter,” Phil says. “At first, you were just a guy, then just a friend and it didn’t matter. And then you mattered more, and you didn’t believe, in magic or, or any of it. You didn’t believe in the things that I was and I didn’t know how to tell you. I’m...I was afraid you’d run. That’s what I was the most afraid of.”

Phil can feel Dan tense up next to him.

“But you come back,” Phil says and looks at Dan hopefully. “Yeah?”

Dan sighs shakily, and reaches out to grab Phil’s hand.

“So,” Dan says, “You’re magic. You’re literally magical.”  
“I am,” Phil says, intertwining their fingers and letting his hand glow a little, just to hear Dan gasp.

“Does this mean your grandmum was actually psychic?” Dan asks

“Yes!” Phil says, “Dan! I’ve told you a million times!”

Dan’s laugh is the best thing Phil’s heard in days, and he feels like his glowing from the inside brighter than their clasped hands.


End file.
